Shaco: Blood Moon
by iamwhoimnot
Summary: A story about a man's quest for his family's redemption. He and his brave men try to escape from the evil, but will they end up chasing after it? Rated T for violence.
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note:**__ This story is not a continuation of my previous story, _Shaco: Demonic Beginnings, _this story is its own separate entity. This story will serve as my current story I will work on – as _Shaco: Demonic Beginnings _actually didn't go the way I planned it. Yea, I screwed up. So… happy reading!_

* * *

Thrain and his men were returning back from the hunt. The men's face were lit up with happiness and glee at the prospect of seeing their wives and children again and telling them about the successful hunt. The group walked up the hill that separated the forest from their town. As Thrain climbed he sniffed the air, and smelled the scent of smoke. Apparently, his men caught it too and within moments they were all running up the hill. By the time they were half-way up, they started hearing screams. Spurred on by potential danger, the men ran faster up the hill. When they reached the top, they saw a sight of destruction.

The village was set aflame and women and children were running everywhere. They caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a jester emerging from the smoke. But there was no time for investigating what that was. Thrain and the men herded all the survivors and led them back over the hill. There was no time for thought, just action.

* * *

_Now…_

Thrain looked up at the night sky. The moon was full and completely white, like a radiant snowball. He could see his breath in the air. Wrapped in heavy winter clothes, his second-in-command walked up to Thrain.

'Beautiful night, sir,' the man commented as he gazed out upon the rolling hills that went off into the distance. He pointed off towards the encampment in the forest. 'Would you like to come join the rest of the party? Keddel's cooking tonight.'

Thrain stared at the horizon. 'Maybe later Gitaih.'

Gitaih sat down next to Thrain. Their legs hung over the cliff's edge. 'I know that look. What are you thinking about?'

Thrain sighed in exasperation. 'I'm thinking about home, okay? We've been gone for so long.'

Gitaih looked over at Thrain. 'I know sir, I know. How long has it been?'

'Twenty moons.* Twenty moons since we were forced out of our village by that, that – that savage beast.'

Gitaih's face was wet with tears. 'Don't remind me sir.'

Thrain looked upon his comrade. The strongest, most physically powerful in the group. Now reduced to tears, a sobbing wreck. 'That thing will pay. We will survive and move on.' Thrain said in grim determination. The two sat there at the cliff for a while longer. A scream pierced the air.

Thrain leaped up, spun around, drew his sword and charged for the camp all in a split-second. He raced towards the fire where a circle of men gathered, with the women and children in the center of the circle, close to the warmth of the fire.

'What's going on?' Thrain demanded from the nearest man.

The man pursed his lips. 'It's him.'

In two words, Thrain understood everything. The thing. The murderer. The killer of hundreds. The killer of his family. His eyes filled with rage and tears. 'Show yourself! Coward! Lurking in the shadows!'

His cry echoed off the trees and was left unanswered. It went on into the darkness. Out of the corner of his eye, Thrain saw a shadow move in the branches of a nearby tree. It leaped from that tree to the next, momentarily passing in front of the bright moon, revealing its shape. It _was _him. It was the form of a clown. But, it was _no _clown. It was a killer. Thrain seethed with anger. Once more he yelled into the shadows. He looked up into the trees, expecting something to be there. Instead, a form materialized in the gloom, just outside of the light's reach. It leaped up in one swift motion and landed blades first in the man standing next to Thrain. Thrain could hear the metal slam against the man's flesh. The sickening sound of bones crunching followed as the shadow landed on the man. The shadow, now revealed in the light as a clown in red-and-black clothes and a white mask with an ear-to-ear smile and glowing blue eyes. The clown hooted in laughter.

'It's hilarious when the bones crunch!'

By that time, most of the people were scattered and running around in fear. Women and children were all over the place, trying to find the best place to hide.

'Oooh! Hide-and-seek! This makes it ever the more fun!' the clown said.

'Shaco.' Thrain snarled.

Shaco turned face so he could see Thrain.

Shaco stood up to his full height, just a few centimeters above Thrain.

'Ready for this sir?' a voice said behind Thrain.

Thrain turned about to face Gitaih and nodded. They charged Shaco at once. It was a good maneuver, one that would've thrown most men off their feet. Thrain struck high at Shaco's head and slashed the sword downward in a quick slicing movement while Gitaih, wielding his axe, feinted to Shaco's right then rushed behind Shaco to slice the axe at his feet. But Shaco was no ordinary fighter, he merely disappeared in a cloud of orange smoke and reappeared behind Gitaih. All the while, the other men were trying to either join Thrain and Gitaih by forming a semi-circle behind the Demon Jester, or trying to get the women and children to somewhere safe. Shaco reappeared behind the semi-circle and brought his shivs down onto one of the men, he cried out in pain but did not seem to die. Instead, Shaco worked the handles of the shivs like levers, controlling the man's movements.

'Get out of the way! I can't control my own body!' the man shouted to his fellow comrades.

Shaco twisted the shivs' handles to the right and up. The man drew his sword and began hacking down the men around him. They were torn between trying to escape the blades and trying to save the man. But they all knew if they tried to save him, they probably end up killing him. Men fell as they remained indecisive for too long. Shoulders were cut off, legs were severed, heads fell, limbs flew, and blood sprayed from severed limbs and stained the snowy ground a crimson red. The air was filled with a red mist as airborne blood settled. Shaco leapt off the man and the shivs in the man's back exploded, sending the man's organs flying everywhere, splattering against the tents and trees.

Thrain in the meantime ran over to the fire and picked up a large branch set aflame. He tossed it towards the Demon Jester while he was preoccupied killing a child. But as the makeshift-torch hit the ground, the Demon Jester disappeared, dropping the child, upon which hitting the ground, its head was cracked open and died. The blood settled and the entire encampment was somewhat covered in corpses, blood, and organs. Women, children, and men (those still alive), came out of their hiding places.

Thrain surveyed the path of death and destruction around him. He felt a soft tug on his blood-stained cloak. He looked down to see a frightened little boy, eyes wide with fear.

'Is it over?'

* * *

*By twenty moons, I refer to twenty full moons.


	2. Part 1: Eastward

Thrain ordered the camp to be moved. The women and children worked in taking apart the tents and loading up the supplies. The men then took the supplies and placed them on horses, their backs, or carts – basically whatever could carry it. The rest of the men took to burying the corpses (no matter what condition they were in) in hurriedly makeshift graves. Thrain and Gitaih stood atop an earthen mound and surveyed the progress. Though it was hard work, no one complained. No one even spoke. The silence hung in the air. No, it wasn't just regular silence, even the children were quiet. It was the kind of quiet that haunted you after a nightmare. You wanted to say something, anything, but couldn't piece it together in words.

At last, when all the bodies were buried, the silence was broken. Not cries of grief or anguish, but solemn words to the gods that the brave men (and women as well as children) would make their way to the heavens and that those still alive may find a safe haven.

'Aven Lightbringer* and Skylan* we lift our cries to you. May warrior's fortune smile upon these brave-hearted men." Thrain proclaimed before those still alive. The people sang a hymn to the gods in their native tongue. The song rose to the sky and even the songs of the birds could not rival. And as the song went on, all sounds but the song ceased as if Nature was holding its breath and listening to the wondrous sounds spoken by the people. The words of their language strung together in what would be equivalent of long vowels and short consonants in Basic*, resulting in a sounding harmony of the high-pitched notes of the women and children and the low-reverberating noises of the men.

After the short, but moving ceremony, the people got on to the animals and wagons. Thrain was mounting his horse when we looked back at that fateful spot where their camp had lain.

'_Isn't there anything in this world that can keep the evil in check? To solve the problems of suffering people who can't help themselves?_' lately he'd been asking himself this question.

He lightly kicked his horse's side and it rode forward to the front of the procession. He rode his horse to the top of an earthen mound and turned to face the people. He saw all kinds of expressions. Angry ones, grieved ones, confused ones, he received all these looks. Gitaih rode up next to him.

With Gitaih at his side, he spoke to the people. 'Today we ride east! I have briefly examined the maps. We are to travel seventy leagues east to the Ironspike Mountains.* I hope to reach them by the end of this week.'

'And from there?' one voice cried out. 'Where to then? Surely, we can't take shelter under the shadow of the Ironspike Mountains forever. We all know the tales of what has taken place there in the history of our people.'

Thrain turned to face the speaker. It was Areot, the tribe's oldest man and storyteller. He was old and weakened, but he had an excellent state of mind. He was sharp to remember the tribe's history. He was the only one old enough to remember the Battle of the Ford, the battle between the village and a clan of savage orcs. It took place at the south end of the rigid, icy river that ran across the outskirts of the village. When the river was frozen over, in the coldest night ever recorded in their tribe's history the orcs attacked. The battle lasted for four days until the orcs had retreated into the forest under the cover of darkness during a new moon. Thrain was hardly a toddler then. Many men were killed. But that was nothing compared to the battle that took place near Ironspike Mountain.

That was when the tribe was still nomadic and had not settled into villages. Areot was not yet born at the time, but the story of it was handed down to him from his grandfather's father. The tribe was wandering near the Ironspike Mountains. On the seventh day of the eleventh month, there rose a great darkness from the north. There was no enemy to be seen but a multitude of storm clouds. But as the storm drew closer and grew larger, the sun went down and it was completely dark save for the lightning because the clouds had refused to let the moon show his face.

As the people huddled together for warmth and safety in the tempest, a screech pierced the air. It echoed through the mountains. The people looked up in fear at the fearful mountains. When the lightning flashed once more, the people could see a vast horde of trolls coming down from the mountains. Normally trolls were nothing to fear in their stupidity, but in the darkness they had the advantage, their eyes built for seeing in the dark. The only way the men could see was by the continuous flash of lightning. The vast thunderclaps were tripled in sound as they echoed.

Thousands of people (as they were a very big tribe) were killed, and the trolls kept coming until at last, in the east, the clouds began to let up, and the sun began to shine its brilliant rays. Never before had the people been so glad to see the light.

'Yes Areot, I remember that battle. You told me the story when I was a kid. But I assure you, the same thing will not happen again. I fear this pass is the only choice. After having passed through the mountains, there is a city to the east of it called _Piltover_. Perhaps the people there will have pity on us and let us reside around their city for a while.'

The people looked on at their leader. There were grim looks of determination. After hearing Thrain's full plan, they figured it was better than the alternative of staying here. In either case, they had to find somewhere to go to escape the Demon Jester. After all, they would think that the tribes of Frejlord would not take their presence lightly and not want them to live amongst them.

'East it is! Onward!'

* * *

*Aven Lightbringer and Skylan are terms borrowed by another author, vOceanic. I would like to give him credit for allowing me to use the terms (yes, I asked him for permission.) Applause for him, the inspirational writer in my life.

*Basic is what refer to as the common language of Valoran.

*Ironspike Mountains is a real place in the fake world of Runterra, refer to a map.

* * *

_Author's Note: As always read and review! _


	3. Paranoia

Thrain was on his horse. It was his pride. It was his joy. It was the only thing left of his old life. He gently tugged the reins. The horse reached the top of the hill and turned around. Its white mane glistened in the sunlight. Thrain laid his head against the horse's neck and carefully smoothened its mane. Then he slowly straightened his back and sat up straight. He looked over the edge of the hill, down at the company moving slowly. Their progress had been slow because of the undergrowth and snow. Not only that, but everyone was on edge. It had been the third day from the attack and suspense hung in the air, everyone expected an attack sooner or later. Even the animals seemed tense.

The group was moving out of the forest now. They were heading into a frosty plain. Snow covered the ground in all directions as far as the eye could see, like a blanket of powdery, soft sugar. The landscape was just completely white, not even plants broke perfection that was the surface of the ground. No grass, no flowers, not even a tree, save for the forest they were now leaving. Even now, snow was softly falling like a light mist.

_Wump. _

Everyone turned to face the source of the sound. A patch of snow had fallen off one of the trees.

Squinting his eyes, Thrain briefly scanned the forest from which they came from. Nothing in sight.

_Wump. _

Again, everyone turned to face the sound. Again, snow had fallen from the tree branches.

_Wump. _

Now it was to the company's right. A few women stifled cries and a toddler to whimper.

_This is going to drive people crazy eventually, _Thrain thought, _they're already paranoid. We're all hanging desperately at the thread of sanity._

No one stirred. Thrain could feel his horse's impatience to get the heck out of there. Finally Gitaih broke the silence. Thrain had almost forgotten he was there. 'Erm… let's keep moving, everybody.'

There was a murmur of assent. _We're all anxious to get out, even the animals, _Thrain thought.

'We'll move further just a few more leagues,' Thrain said with all the bravery he could muster. 'Then we'll stop for the night. Hopefully the visibility of the plain will protect us.'

Areot grumbled beneath his breath, 'So long as it does not snow.'

Thrain pointed his gaze at Areot. After a short stare-down, Thrain spoke to the people, 'Do not be discouraged. We shall move forward.'

* * *

They set up camp in the tundra. Provisions were below the halfway point. If all went according to plan, the tribe would make it to the other side before they ran out. But of course, nothing had been going according to plan so far. As far as they could see, the plain ran flat in all directions. _That would make it easier to defend the camp if… no, I refuse to think like that,_ Thrain thought. He sat in his tent, deep in contemplation. The only light source was a lantern in the corner. There wasn't even a fire. Thrain ordained that they did not light a central light source; perhaps that would make it harder for Shaco to find them. Gitaih parted the tent flap and walked in.

'Sir?'

'Yes, Gitaih?'

'Um, I was wondering.'

'Wondering what?'

'I looked over the maps.'

'And?'

'We've diverged from the main course. We're four leagues south of the course we had originally planned.'

Thrain opened his eyes and jerked up.

'What?!'

'Um… yea. Here.' Gitaih produced a rather flimsy, large parchment. The weathered paper crinkled in the hunter's strong grip.

Thrain carefully, yet eagerly reached for the paper. Taking it from Gitaih's hands he unfurled the scroll slowly. He placed it on the ground and sat down with his legs crossed, hand on his chin.

'Hm...'

Gitaih motioned towards a certain part of the map. Thrain looked towards that spot. He was still and did not move for a moment, even though the information had registered in his mind already. Thrain sighed in exasperation.

'What do you recommend we do Gitaih? I entrust this decision to you.'

Gitaih merely looked towards Thrain and nodded. 'Sir, though it may not be the best of decisions, I suggest that we keep going on this direction.'

'And how do you propose we make it back to our original route?'

'I believe we can make do without the original plans. I plan on heading through the plains then at about four leagues from here, we turn further southeast.'

Thrain measured the distances on the map. 'That would put us at the foot of the Vilhjamar Foothills. There's a village there I believe. A small village of sturdy mountaineers. Well-traveled the people there are.'

'Yes, there, if the people are hospitable enough, we could restock our supplies. After that we could head through Jayould's pass.'

'I know that pass, it is a risky one. But assuming we could get through quickly enough we should be safe. Okay, then Gitaih, sounds reasonable enough to me. Now, I can rest peacefully tonight.'

Another voice was heard at the tent's opening. 'Sir? There's someone here to see you.'

Thrain got up. 'Come in, who is there?'

'It's Rilfe.' A young man with dark brown hair that hung in his face a bit walked in. He was slightly stocky, but not very strong. His hands hung at his side as he walked in.

'Rilfe, to what do I owe your visit?'

'We have a visitor.'

Thrain started. 'Who?'

'Um, I'm not sure, he came just a while ago. As for his name, he made no mention, but he seemed harmless. He was riding on a pure white horse. Purer and fairer is its complexion than of any horses I've seen. Even yours.' Rilfe tugged at the hem of his cloak anxiously. 'He um, said he wants to see you right away.'

* * *

Thrain parted the doors of his tent. Gitaih and Rilfe flanked him, carrying torches. The trio walked towards the edge of the dark encampment. Already, the snow had begun to fall more heavily. The boots made soft, crunching noises as they walked. When they reached the edge of the encampment, there was a hooded figure in purple satin robes with stripes of yellow here and there, leaning on a tall staff. The figure was shorter than Thrain. But tall enough to hold the perhaps 2-meter high staff without looking too awkward.

Thrain moved closer, 'What is your business here?'

The figure made no move to reply.

'I ask again, why are you here?'

Finally, the figure drew back his hood. Underneath the hood was long black hair that fell in strands in his fair-complexioned face. His eyes, though dark brown, glittered with excitement and wonder. But what made it more interesting was that he was little more than a _boy._ He might've been thirteen at the most. 'Let's put it at this, I am here to help, not to destroy.'

'And what makes you think we require your assistance?'

The boy motioned towards the camp and spoke slowly, 'I am a sorcerer. A wielder of magic. I'm not quite sure why, but a few days ago, I felt that my presence was needed somewhere. And I've followed that instinct to _here._'

To this Thrain had nothing to say. None in the tribe could wield magic—not since Areot was a boy. The last one had died during the Battle of the Ford. Perhaps this wizard was the solution to their problems. Perhaps this _boy_ was the answer to Thrain's prayers to Aven and Skylan. If Gitaih or Rilfe thought anything was out of place, they didn't show it.

Thrain was about to say something when he saw a dark form move out of the corner of his eye. The wizard pulled his hood back up. 'You are being followed. By what, I cannot say. My advice is this, disassemble camp. Now. Start moving. Do not head for the village. Instead, make directly for the pass. Hunt for game as you go. Should you survive I will meet you at the base of the pass, given three days' time. Now, make haste. And may warrior's fortune smile upon your efforts.'

Before Thrain could inquire how this boy had acquired so much knowledge, the sorcerer whistled and a white horse appeared to materialize from the gloom beyond the torchlight. The sorcerer saddled and rode off into the night.

Thrain told Rilfe to tell everyone to break camp and be ready to move by daybreak, only a few hours away.

'What do you make of it sir?'

'I don't know Gitaih, but I'm starting to feel like we _should _break camp.'

'Okay…. But what if we don't find any game?'

'Like I said, I just don't know.'

By the time camp was almost taken apart completely, a howl was heard sounding across the plain.

Everyone looked up. Eyes wide with fear, everyone shuddered and began to work faster (as fast as their frosted hands would let them). Then, out of the gloom came a scout riding on a brown horse. There was a look of terror and frenzy in his eyes. 'Orcs! A savage host of them! Run! Ru-'

Before he could finish his sentence, an arrow sprouted from his throat and silenced him. He fell from his horse and hit the ground.

Thrain looked up from his pack and cursed. 'Great, first the Demon Jester, then the wizard, and now this.'

Gitaih thrust his sword skyward, 'To battle!'

* * *

_Author's Note: This one was written in one sitting over the time of roughly one and a half hours. I apologize for any mistakes. As always rate and review. :)_


	4. Divergence

_Author's Note: Shaco comes back in this one. :) Please read and review!_

* * *

Thrain remembered the time when he first started his sword training. He was only ten then.

* * *

Blood splattered on the ground.

Thrain winced and fell forward onto his knees clutching his bleeding wrist.

'Tsk, tsk. You are too impatient.' His master had scolded him in the manner over and over before, in that same monotonous voice whenever he was lecturing one of his students. He bent over and picked up the sword from the blood-tainted dust at Thrain's knees.

'Augh!' Thrain cried out in pain again as more blood began to pour from his severed wrist.

His teacher merely looked at Thrain and plain as a rock sculpture. 'You got what you deserved Thrain Whiteguard. You were too impatient.'

Thrain, still cradling his wrist, glowered at his teacher. 'Are you saying I can't do this?'

His teacher stared back at him in disappointment. 'No, you have great potential, but what you lack and what a good swordsman has is patience. Now, now, run along to the priest. Perhaps he can help heal you.'

The next week, Thrain's wrist was close to normal again. The priest insisted that he not go to sword practice, but Thrain wanted to go, despite knowing that it would prove to his teacher and himself that he _was_ impatient. That day, he had perfected the very technique that had nearly cost him his good hand.

His teacher, just like always, seized the moment and used the opportunity to teach him another value. 'Sometimes, true success requires sacrifice. Remember that. Because one day, it might cost you more than simply limbs.'

* * *

Thrain couldn't help but recognize his master's seemingly prophetic words. Luckily, most of the tribe's possessions were packed and ready to go.

'Move! Go, go, go!' Gitaih shouted at the women and children. Normally, he was calm and collected but now he was frantic. The horses kicked the snow as they raced forward, pulling wagons of women, children, and items. The rest ran off on foot, taking with them what they could and trying to follow the wagons. Some of the men mounted on the remaining horses while the others drew their swords.

In the chaos, the fire had been put out and the men stood in a circle in the dark. The snow had started falling heavily again but the moon was high up in the sky and quite bright. The men breathed heavily, their breath condensing in the air. They began to hear snarls all around them.

'_Olak salm gok mer kata…_' a voice growled from the darkness.

Then, in standard Basic, 'Kill those humans!'

The orcs jumped forward and struck down those in the outer circle. Thrain luckily was not hurt, but he rushed forward, sword in hand and struck down the nearest orc. Cleaving its head off its shoulders, its black blood splattered on to Thrain's sword. GItaih yelled fiercely and the orcs charging at him stopped briefly. Gitaih threw his axe and it flew upward, the deadly sharp steel edge glinting in the moonlight; then in came back down and landed in a surprised orc face. Running forward, Gitaih ripped his axe out of the orc's head and slung it at the next orc. Despite their efforts though, the number of men were diminishing and the once flawless white snow was now turning a shade of dark crimson, the blood of men mixing with the orcs'. The battle was fierce. At one point, Thrain was next to GItaih, throwing his axe back and forth. Then he was next to Rilfe and then next to other men and even by himself once. Soon, the men were in a circle of only about 150 against a mass of orcs. Both sides were breathing heavily at this point and in a semi-deadlock. Just as the fighting was about to start up again, a blood-curdling laugh penetrated the air, sending shivers down both orcs and men alike. All paused and looked around.

From everywhere, a jolly yet crazed voice cackled. 'Well, well… what do we have here? Orcs _and_ men? What a delight! Looks like we'll have fun tonight!'

A cloud of orange smoke exploded into existence in the middle of the fighting. Orcs and men fell away from it covered in confetti, but screaming as if they were covered in boiling oil. In fact, as Thrain looked, it seemed that the confetti was actually burning their skin, causing blood to roll down their abdomens and faces. As the smoke settled, there was actually no one there. Fearfully, everyone looked around.

Then a voice from behind Thrain whispered, 'Hey, where do you think he is?'

Thrain turned around to shush the speaker when all the blood drained from his face, his eyes as wide as saucers. There stood Shaco smiling at him. 'Oh wait, I'M HIM! HAHAHAHAHA!'

Shaco jumped up and Thrain felt temporary relief. But then he jumped down on to an orc and leapt on to a man. Every time he landed, that person (or orc) exploded. Chaos ensued again. Orcs against men. Men against orcs. Orcs against Shaco. Men against Shaco. Shaco against everyone.

Thrain shouted over the clanging of swords and explosions to those who would hear him, "Run! RUN!"

He and the men who heard him dashed off into the snow. Hopefully the Demon Jester did not spot them. They plunged down the snowy slope and ran through the white thickets and over the frozen lakes. They ran for at least a mile or two until they stopped. Swallowing deep gulps of air as if they had never breathed before, the men collapsed and fell over on to the snow.

* * *

Thrain still panted heavily but immediately asked, 'How many left?'

There was only ten of them. Gitaih was not among them.

* * *

'Thrain! Thrain!' Gitaih called through the carnage, his voice sounding desperate. There were about fifty men with him, some injured more badly than others. The remaining orcs had fled and Shaco had disappeared to wherever the hell he goes.

'Sir he is not among the fallen,' a soldier reported.

Gitaih stared at the rising sun in contemplation for a moment, 'Let's go. We need to catch up to the women and children. Then we head for Jayould's Pass through the Iron Spike mountains.'

* * *

Thrain sat moodily in a cave that Rilfe had spotted. They got a fire going and were thinking about where to go next.

Rilfe broke his train of thought, 'Sir, we should get going. If we leave soon we might be able to relocate the others.'

After a brief moment of silence, Thrain spoke, 'Or the Demon Jester.'

'Excuse me, sir?' Rilfe asked in bewilderment, 'We just escaped him with our lives. By the skin of our teeth!'

'It's time we took action. Instead of running, we need to go after him.'

Thrain stood up and looked at the horizon at the rising sun. Beams of sunlight reflected off the white snow. Thrain's eyes glittered with anticipation and impatience. 'Aven and Skylan above, lead our path and lead the Demon Jester to his doom.'

* * *

_Author's Note: Thank you for your patience for this update. It's just been a while because I was busy over Thanksgiving then came back to school and homework and stuff. I'll try to update more often. _


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